


Graham Crackers

by tohidefrommyfriends



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 09:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20189794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tohidefrommyfriends/pseuds/tohidefrommyfriends
Summary: In an alternate timeline where Helga Pataki was never a bully, here are a collection of one-shots that follow the lives of Helga and Arnold. Most of the chapters are loosely based off of real episodes.





	1. Football Head

A five-year-old Helga looked down at the purple paint that was splattered all over pink overalls. At first, she was shocked, but just as soon as her surprise had come, it was taken over by anger. She looked up again, her hands in fists at her sides and a deep scowl on her face. "Arnold! What did you do that for?"

Arnold looked a little nervous under her glare, but he managed to say, "I'm sorry, Helga, it was only an accident -"

"No, it wasn't!" Helga insisted, taking a dangerous step towards him. "You did it on _purpose_!"

He furrowed his eyebrows, a frustration of his own masking his apologetic response to the _accident_ that caused him to spill pain all over her. He didn't _mean_ to trip over a wooden block that somebody, (cough, cough, _Harold_), forgot to put away, and he didn't _mean_ to stumble into her with a can of open purple paint in his hand. "No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!"

"I didn't!"

"Did!"

"Did _not_!"

"Did _so_!"

At that point, both children were fairly close to each other, fists at their sides, eyes narrowed, and cheeks pink with anger. They were attracting the attention of all of their other class mates, some of which were entranced by the fact that mild-mannered Arnold was shouting, (although Helga was generally a pretty good kid, she still had a short temper), and others were interested in the sheer drama of it all. Arnold and Helga usually got along great. Sure, there were a few slip-ups and arguments, but they tended to play together well. In fact, sometimes it seemed like they never left each other's sides, always playing together, and eating together, and sitting together in the corner and laughing about something or other. In other words, they were attached at the hip, and, after two years of seeing them so close, it was an intriguing sight to see them, not only disagree, but to be so vocal about it.

"Why do you always get so angry, Helga?" Arnold asked loudly.

"Well, I wouldn't if people wouldn't _make_ me angry!" she answered. "And you know what's making me angry right now, Arnold?"

"What?!"

"Your stupid sweater!"

Arnold growled, his eyes narrowing. "What's so stupid about my sweater?"

"It makes you look like a geek!"

"Yeah, well, your one eyebrow looks funny!" four-year-old Arnold spat, putting his hands on his hips. The entire class gasped at the nerve of him, their eyes glancing to Helga to see how she would respond.

Steam was practically blowing out of her ears, but she just mimicked his stance, her anger matching his, as she responded, "Your tiny blue hat is way too small for your giant head!"

"Your nose is too big!"

"Your ears are too small!"

"Your teeth are all wonky-looking!"

"You've got a . . . your head is shaped like a . . . like a _football_!" Helga retorted heatedly. She glared at him for a moment, before she blinked slowly and said in a monotone voice, "You're a _Football Head_." Despite the fact that she was supposed to be mad at Arnold, for a reason she no longer cared to remember, her newly developed nickname for him was too amusing for her to contain her giggles. "Can I call you Football Head?"

Arnold frowned and was about to decline when he noticed how soft and cute her giggle was. He'd only heard it once before, and it was one of his most favorite noises in the whole world. Come to think of it, maybe he didn't find that name so bad. She giggled when she said it, and hearing Helga G. Pataki giggle was one of the most coveted noises that Arnold could even think of. "Sure," he stuttered out, reaching for her hand and gently taking it in his. She beamed at him and he smiled back. "You can call me Football Head."

The entire class just gaped at how fast the two seemed to make up, and as Arnold led a giddy Helga to the sink to help clean her up, the two laughing and smiling, (and offering each other sincere apologies), the eyes of the other kids followed them the entire way.

"Mmm mmm mmm," Gerald said, turning around in his chair to continue his crayon drawing. "Those two are something else."


	2. The Flood

"Okay, everybody together! We can do it!" Arnold encouraged, securing his hold on the rope as he prepared himself to reel his teacher in from the dangerous flood. It was unexpected, it was terrifying, but Arnold had stepped up, as he normally did, and assumed a leadership role. He gave Helga a reassuring nod, and she returned the gesture with a smile that told Arnold she was going to be just fine. It was her he was most worried about, so he kept her close to him, should something happen. Arnold turned back forward, gripping tightly and pulling in tune with the other fourth graders.

After a few tugs, Mr. Simmons' was just within reach. All someone had to do was reach out and grab him, and he'd be safe again.

Helga leaned over before Arnold could stop her, attempting to grasp tight Mr. Simmons' hand and pull him in. The water, however, was too shallow, and didn't reach the window enough for her to safely balance out of it. While she held out a hand for her teacher, a determined look on her face, she could feel herself topple over, and she let out a high-pitched screech as she plunged head-first into the frigid rain water.

Arnold's heart stopped as soon as he realized that she was no longer safely by his side, and, before he even knew he was doing it, he let out a terrified shout. "_NO_!"

His heart raced when the girl resurfaced. She was thrashing about as she tried to not only stay afloat, but to also avoid being swept away by the surprisingly strong current, and she shrieked back, "ARNOLD!" while reaching forwards in the hopes that he could somehow extend his arms and sweep her out of harms way.

The football-headed boy was hardly comforted when Mr. Simmons took hold of Helga's wrist to stop her from drifting away. He knew two people were harder to reel in than one, and she was still submerged in twenty-feet deep water, and he had almost . . . he had almost _lost_ her . . . Something in him hardened, and his look of concern turned to one of anger, determination, and just a bit of fear; his lips turned twisted in a deep, open-mouthed frown, and his eyebrows furrowed when he briefly glanced at the other fourth graders beside him. They were worried, that was evident, but he felt all the angrier that they didn't seem as absolutely terrified as he was. His voice, dripping with adrenaline, shouted at them, "Pull 'em in, guys! _Now!_"

With a few more hefty pulls, both Mr. Simmons and Helga were safely inside of the classroom, and Arnold's heart, (which had already been racing marathons in his chest), seemed to pick up even _more_ speed when he fiercely gathered the pigtailed girl into his arms. His eyes squeezed shut and his lips pursed together as he ordered himself not to get emotional. His grip on her tightened when he felt her wrap her arms around his body, too.

"Helga, don't _ever_ do that again," he bit harshly, burrowing his face deeper into her saturated hair.

The girl smiled softly at his concern, but just rubbed soothing circles into his back. Her own heart was beating pretty fast, but she knew that he was worrying about the ordeal far more than she was. "I promise," she finally answered, her voice just over a whisper. She pulled back slightly so she could see his face, and her heart almost broke at the hurt and stress that plagued the boy's eyes. She wanted to question him about why he was so worked up, (especially because she was safe now), but something about the moment told her to save the interrogation for later. She took hold of his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking his cheek bones, as she said, "You saved me."

Arnold's wide eyes grew just a tad more half-lidded at her praise, but he was still so broken up inside at the prospect of having to live without her that he just couldn't return her smile. Not yet. Instead, he just shook his head, putting one of his palms over the back of her hand as it rested on his cheek. "It wasn't me. It was all of us. I'm just." He sighed deeply, staring as far into her eyes as he could. "I'm just so happy you're safe."

Helga didn't think of her actions when she just leaned forward and put her lips delicately against his. Instinctively, Arnold's lips puckered in return, and his other hand came to rest atop hers. It wasn't the first time they'd kissed, (they'd actually lost count of how many times they'd found their lips touching the other's), but there was something about that kiss in particular that felt... different. Their lips didn't move; there was no sensual caressing; neither child felt the need to moan or give auditory confirmations of pleasure. It wasn't the sort they gave each other as a way of saying hello, or a brief thank you for a birthday present. It was sweet and gentle, sure, and yet filled with loyalty and promise. When she pulled back after a little _more_ than a few seconds, Arnold finally drew up the happiness to return her smile.

"There's that classic Football Head smile I love so much," Helga said in her best attempt of lightening the mood. He grinned at her humor, his eyes growing certifiably half-lidded as he waited for her to say whatever else was on her mind, because he knew that there was _always_ something else. "I know you won't take credit for it, but really, Arnold. Thank you."

At her sincerity, Arnold sighed, feeling rather lovesick. "I love you, Helga."

Helga giggled, beginning to rise to her feet and dragging a dazed Arnold with her. "I love you, too, Football Head."

They gazed at each other for a few more seconds, soft smiles on their faces, before a interrupting cough from Gerald's direction drew them from their stupor. They blushed and averted their eyes, clearing their throats as a way to dismiss the situation, but the laughter of the other children and the kind smiles from the more _mature_ fourth graders told them that the moment wouldn't be forgotten for a long time.


	3. Parents Day

"We're not going to lose this competition to some _orphan_ -"

Helga gasped loudly, briefly glancing in Arnold's direction and feeling her heart break at the pained look on his face. Every piece of her wanted to scream at her father for his unbelievable insensitivity, but she knew that making even more of a scene would make Arnold feel worse, so she bit her tongue and made a move towards him. He just shook his head, his shoulders slouching as he turned away. Despite the fact that Helga figured Arnold wanted to be alone, she wouldn't allow it.

She hurried after him, but before she could take two steps, she felt a strong hand seize her arm, halting her in her path. She turned to face her father -- though for years, she had deemed him to simply be the man that paid for the house she lived in -- setting a ferocious glare at his beady eyes. "Let go of me, _Bob_."

"Hey! Don't take that tone with me, little lady! Do you want to win that trophy, or not?" he demanded in his harsh voice.

Helga's voice was low, laced with loathing. "Not with you, I don't! I'd much rather lose every competition I've ever been in than win anything with you! Now let me _go_." She wrenched her arm free and ran away from her father, who was frozen in his spot, surprised by the hatred on his daughter's face.

"Arnold!" Helga called out, stopping the football-headed boy in his tracks. "Arnold, wait!"

Arnold's voice was quiet, resigned, and tired as he said, "I'm not really in the mood for company right now, Helga." He looked over his shoulder with saddened eyes. "I just want to be alone."

Helga shook her head, taking hold of Arnold's limp shoulders and turning his body to face her. "No dice," she answered simply.

The boy sighed, shaking his head. The beginnings of tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "Please, Helga." His body sagged, his head hanging in hurt and shame.

"Nope," she said bluntly, forcibly pulling him into a light hug. He didn't respond, just letting her hold him as he stared at something just over her shoulder. A part of him wanted her to let him go so he could think, (he wasn't very good at concentrating when Helga was around), but another part of him never wanted her to let him go for anything. This part of him amplified when she whispered in his ear, "I'm not leaving you. That you can count on. As long as I'm with you, there's not a chance you'll be alone. I won't allow it."

Before he could stop it, a quiet sob escaped Arnold's lips, and he wrapped his arms around Helga's thin frame. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, his lips pressed harshly together to prevent any more cries from sneaking out. He had been lying when he said he wanted to be alone; he desperately wanted her company, but he didn't want her to see him cry. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, burrowing in to escape the hurt her father had caused.

"Arnold, I love you so much. I don't know what happened," (she didn't elaborate on what she was talking about, but Arnold understood plainly), "and I would never force you to tell me, but I do know one thing: your parents love you, just as much as I do. You are kind, good-hearted, compassionate, empathetic, and you deserve the world. You make _my_ life worth living; you're my muse, my soul, my rock. You keep me grounded, and you make me feel loved in a cruel world, and for that, all I can do to thank you is give you my heart. I belong to you, and I will never leave you." She took a deep breath, trying to mask the fact that Arnold's tears, (which she felt soak through her pink t-shirt), made her eyes want to water, as well. She would never disrupt her mourning, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep it together. "I bet your parents were just as perfect as you are, Arnold, and they loved you with all their hearts -"

Arnold pulled back, seizing Helga's face in his hand and smashing their mouths together. His lips were desperate for her love; the desire to be as close to her as possible controlling his movements. He could taste the salt of tears, (he assumed they were his own), his lips were firm, but also very sloppy, and his nose kept bumping against hers, but the kiss was perfect. He had never felt more connected to her in all his life.

When he pulled back, he was surprised to see that Helga's face was twisted, her eyes squeezed shut and her top lip chewing on her bottom. She was silently crying, and Arnold's breath hitched at the very sight. As he brushed a thumb under her eye to catch a tear, his already aching heart clenched with the pain and anger at having made her cry.

At his touch, Helga's eyes flickered open, a deep rich sadness quirking them in a strange way that Arnold had rarely seen before. His voice was just above a whisper as he said, "Oh, Helga, please don't cry."

Helga cupped his cheek, stroking his cheekbones and smearing his tears into his skin. "I hate seeing you in pain, Arnold," she said in a shaking voice. "I can't stand it, and I'm sorry -"

Arnold shook his head roughly at the very thought of Helga blaming herself for her father's misdeeds. "It isn't your fault. Your father was the one who said . . ." he let out a breath, "said that I'm an . . . an _orphan_." This last word was spoken so quietly that Helga hardly heard it, but it made her heart break all the more. And what made the situation worse: she wasn't sure she could counter it. "I know you would never do that to me." He gently placed his free hand over her heart, feeling the pounding through her shirt. "You're too kindhearted, and I know you love me too much. I love you, too. With all of my heart, I love you, and I never want you to leave me." There was a beat of silence before Arnold's quiet voice asked, "Will you come home with me? I . . . I don't want to be alone."

Without hesitation, Helga nodded, trying to smile at him. "Yeah, I guess so. There isn't much you could do to make me go away now, Football Head."

For the first time since Helga's father insulted him, a small smile came to his face. "Thanks, Helga."

Helga grinned at him, wiping the tears from his cheeks before taking a step back and lacing their fingers together. "Come on, my love. Let's go find your grandparents and we can go home."

Arnold's heart fluttered at the fact that she called his house 'home', and he nodded. "Whatever you say, Helga."


	4. The First Kiss

"Arnold?"

Seven-year-old Arnold looked up at the extremely-uncharacteristically shy voice of his . . . girlfriend? The two first graders were in his bedroom, on an organized play date, and she had been sitting in the opposite corner of the room, relatively quiet, but otherwise normal. He remembered her playing solitaire by herself, her jaw set and her eyes determined. And they were sitting in silence. But now, she was standing in front of him, looking awful timid, with her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze fixed on her white tennis shoes, and a deep blush on her cheeks. He had never seen her like that before, and he was greatly intrigued by the sight.

"Hi, Helga. Everything okay?" he asked sweetly, dropping the Legos he was playing with and rising to his feet.

"Yeah, fine," she said, her voice high-pitched and quiet. "Can I ask you something, Arnold?"

He quirked his eyebrows in confusion and worry, and nodded slowly in response. "Of course. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's really _wrong_, I guess, but I was just wondering if maybe . . . we could . . ." She mumbled something under her breath that Arnold couldn't understand.

"I'm sorry, Helga, I didn't hear you," he said politely, stepping forward and placing a hopefully-comforting hand on her shoulder.

The poor girl groaned in embarrassment, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. "Can I . . . well I was just wondering, and I guess you can say no if you want to; I won't force you, or anything, but I thought that maybe we could . . . or, maybe you could let me . . ." She cleared her throat, her voice trailing off before she could finish her thought. "Never mind. It's stupid. Forget it."

Arnold shook his head stubbornly, smiling as warmly as he could at her. "Don't worry, Helga. I want you to tell me. It sounds important. And besides, I like listening to you talk."

Helga gave him a small smile, pausing for an extra-long moment, her eyes looking him up and down, trying to find lies in his words or posture. When she figured he was telling the truth, she cleared her throat again and said, softly, "Well, I, uh . . . I like you, and I was wondering if I could . . . _maybe give you a kiss_." The last part of the sentence was rushed out as fast as she could possibly utter the syllables, but Arnold caught it. And he blushed nice and warm at the suggestion.

To be honest, he'd never really considered kissing her. Sure, he knew that mommies and daddies, and grandmas and grandpas kissed when they were in love. He'd seen it before, and, unlike some of his other friends . . . well, he'd never been totally grossed out by it. And now, thinking about kissing Helga like his Grandpa kissed his Grandma, his heart felt like it was _flying_, or something. It felt nice, whatever it was, he just couldn't put it in words.

Apparently his prolonged silence was answer enough for Helga, because she suddenly took a large step away from him, and his hand fell off her shoulder. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks crimson, and she stuttered out, "I'm sorry, Arnold, I-I . . . I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you . . . make you uncomfortable or anything!" She sighed slowly. "Maybe I should go -" She moved her body like she was about to bolt through his bedroom door, but Arnold reached for her, stopping her in her tracks, and gripped her shoulders tightly. Without a beat of hesitation, he lifted up on his toes and planted his lips sweetly onto hers.

He stayed there for a few seconds, his eyes half-shut and carefully watching Helga's wide blue eyes, before he pulled away. The two first graders were blushing hotly, their eyes locked onto each other shyly and cautiously, awaiting the other's reaction.

Arnold was the first to speak, his voice shaky and nervous. "Was that okay, Helga?"

She swallowed and nodded slowly, her lips twitching upwards happily. "Yeah, um . . . thanks, Arnold." Her twitching lips stretched wide, and she beamed at him, giggling quietly at his half-lidded expression.

The boy grinned at her, squeezing her shoulders briefly before letting her go. "You're welcome, Helga. That was okay for me, too." Despite the fact that his face was practically on fire, and he _was_ just a _little_ embarrassed, he'd never felt happier in his life. They gazed at each other for a few more seconds before Arnold gestured to the toys on the floor beside him. "Do you want to play Legos with me?"

Helga nodded eagerly, dropping to her knees, and said, "Sure."

Arnold's smile never left his face as he joined her, folding his legs Indian style and lifting the complicated house he was building so he could continue working on it. "Great," he said, his voice uplifting and pleased. They fell silent for a moment, before he added shyly, "And, um, Helga?" He waited until she was looking at him before he said, "I like you, too." She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling, and she leaned forward, giving him a light kiss on the cheek, before she returned her attention to the foundation of the house she was planning to build. Arnold stared at her, lifting a hand to touch his blushing cheek, and he grinned goofily, but didn't respond. The two first graders fell into a comfortable silence, bringing their focus on their Lego structures, only occasionally sneaking glances at each other.


	5. New Teacher

"So, Helga, say something nice about Arnold," Mr. Simmons said with a smile, moving out of the way so Helga could see the football-headed boy across the room from her. He smirked at her, his eyes falling half-lidded, and he laid his head down on his palm, propping his elbow on his desk. She could pretty much _hear_ him flirting with her like their minds melded and he was feeding her his thoughts, and her cheeks heated up at the possibility of having to pour out her guts in front of another person. (Not that it had been the first time, but it would be the first time with the entire class' eyes purposefully glued on her.)

"Say something nice? About Arnold?" she stuttered, pulling at her collar, and averting her eyes. She knew she was a blushing mess, and she knew Arnold was probably laughing at her, but she just couldn't bring herself to lift her gaze to look at anybody else.

"Don't get her started, she'll probably never stop," Rhonda heckled loudly, rolling her eyes over to Nadine, who smiled sheepishly, though did nothing to contradict Rhonda's statement.

Helga wanted to glare, but the unwavering attention on her flustered her into silence. All the other kids were practically choking on air, trying to stifle their laughter as Helga fumbled for something to say, something to jab back at the Princess for jabbing her. Ultimately, however, she just shoved revenge to the back of her mind, (to be tended to later), trying to focus on the task at hand. The sooner she complimented her favorite football head, the sooner all the attention would be off of her. But, if she were to be honest with her classmates, she would be gushing about how perfect she thought Arnold was well into tomorrow, but she didn't want _anybody_ but Arnold to see her in such a state of near delirious romance, so she bit her lip tightly, trying to think of something to satisfy the new teacher's needs.

A savior came in the form of Arnold, who cleared his throat, drawing the attention over to him and his lovesick gaze. "If I can interrupt, Mr. Simmons?" he asked politely, shifting his gaze to the wonderfully oblivious fourth grade teacher.

Mr. Simmons smiled wide, (pleased that at least one of his students seemed to appreciate his activity), nodded, and said, "Of course, Arnold. The floor is yours."

"Thank you." He turned back to Helga, who had her eyes locked onto his as she anxiously waited for whatever embarrassment he was about to induce. "Helga, I think you're a great person with a great heart. You're funny, kind, independent, and strong. I like everything about you, from your beautiful smile, to your quick wit and ability to think fast in situations that I would be a bumbling idiot in." He lifted a hand and discretely reached for her, as if silently asking her to hold his hand, (a movement that neither Helga, nor Mr. Simmons missed), but he otherwise stayed in his seat. "This might be the one time I'm happy you and I don't sit next to each other in class, because I never would've been able to compliment you and make you smile and blush had you and I not been placed opposite each other in the circle." He sighed warmly. "Yes, you're one in a million, Helga G. Pataki."

The fourth graders were too stunned to even laugh at such a romantic speech, but Helga was more than capable of reaction. The second the last syllable left his mouth, she whined softly in embarrassment, (before quickly disguising that as an amused chuckle), and she twiddled her thumbs as she glanced down at the **A+H** she had carved onto her desk in a heart. "Didn't Simmons say only _one_ thing, Football Head?"

Feeling _extremely_ lovesick, Arnold sighed obliviously, (as if he'd completely forgotten about the fact that the entire fourth grade class was witnessing the whole exchange), and drank in the sight of her being all shy and modest and flustered, blushing pink and twisting her lips into a soft smile. "Well, yeah, but I like a lot of things about you. It just seemed like a good time to remind you."

The entire class got over their momentary stupor, and then they burst into laughter, some mocking, some sweet. But if you asked Helga, it was laughter all the same, and her previous blush turned from one of delighted embarrassment, to one of anger.

"What are _you_ chuckleheads laughing at?" Helga spat, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back in her desk. "Crimeny, it's not like this is the _first_ time you're hearing any of this!"

"Aww," Mr. Simmons cooed over the laughter, interrupting Helga's sudden explosion, leaning against his desk and folding his arms over his chest. "That's sweet! Do we have a little couple in here?" His gaze flicked between Arnold and Helga, his constant smile growing all the more when he saw their matching blushes.

"Yeah, so what if we do?" Helga asked defensively, matching his posture, but instead slapping a frown on her face. "You got a problem with that?"

"Not at all," Mr. Simmons said with a kind shake of his head. "It just means that now I know to pair you two together more often."

The class' laughter finally died down, some kids wiping tears from their eyes and others just taking deep gulping breaths to get their air back. The masses missed what Mr. Simmons had said, but Arnold and Helga were very much aware of the fact that their teacher just told them that he was going to let them work together more frequently than normal. The two stared at each other in awe, unbelieving that they had scored such an amazing teacher. After a few seconds of silence, broad grins broke out on Arnold and Helga's faces and they started to laugh. Mr. Simmons watched them kindly, the rest of the class watched them in confusion, (having missed Mr. Simmons' announcement), but Arnold and Helga could hardly keep their eyes open, so thick was their laughter.

"Oh, man, Simmons," Helga said through chuckles, wiping a tear from her eye when her and Arnold finally calmed down. "I think you and I are going to get along _just_ fine."


	6. Moving to San Lorenzo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place two years after Arnold and Helga and Gerald rescued Miles and Stella, for reference.

Twelve-year-old Arnold stared at his parents, his eyes wide and pleading, tears prickling at the corners, and he said, "Mom, Dad . . . please don't go -"

Stella knelt in front of her son, a gentle, kind smile on her face, and she brought his shaking body into an embrace. "Oh, Arnold . . . you'll be coming with us, of course. You're old enough to travel, to experience the wonderful, wide world around you. You'll get to stay in San Lorenzo, explore the jungle, and live with the Green Eyed People. The natives really took a liking to you, you know -"

Arnold was frozen in place, his eyes bugging out of his head in mild horror. "No," he mumbled under his breath. "No, you guys . . . you guys _can't_ do that to me."

Stella pulled back, confusion written all over her face. "What are you talking about, sweetheart? I know it'll be a big adjustment, and I'm sure you'll miss your friends here, but I thought you loved San Lorenzo -"

"I did," he insisted, too petrified to pull himself out of his mother's grasp. "But you guys were there, and-and I was so happy, but _Helga _. . ." Arnold squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the indignant tears away. "Helga was with me the whole time. I guess I never ended up telling you about Helga. Not completely. I know you know she's my girlfriend, but she's _everything_ to me. She . . . I've loved her since I was three, and I can't just _leave_ her! You guys have _no_ idea what her and I have been through together! She was always there for me whenever I was sad that you two were gone! And, even when her father called me an orphan three years ago, she told me that she'd never leave me, and that as long as she loved me, that I'd never be alone." In his distress, he shook himself out of his mother's shocked arms, and he began pacing the length of the kitchen, a hand on his forehead in the futile attempt to avoid the coming headache. "I can't leave her. No, anything but that, please don't make me leave her . . . You can't do that to me!" He was beginning to raise his voice, and he never thought he'd ever speak to his parents in such a way; even before he'd met them, he never imagined that he'd ever feel so angry with them that he'd shout. "You can't make me chose between you two! It's not fair! She's . . . Helga, she's a part of me." His voice had suddenly dropped to a whisper. "If I left her, I wouldn't be whole anymore. She's everything I'd ever want to be; and I . . . she's taught me so much; she's been so patient . . ."

He paused momentarily in his pained rant, and leaned against the refrigerator, his head dropped in his hands. He finally got the courage to speak again, his voice muffled behind his trembling fingers. "Her parents ignore her. They call her by the wrong name, and forget to make her lunch for school, and they never remember to pick her up from soccer practice, and they don't even know how old she is. I can't leave her alone with that. I never told you, because it wasn't my place to say anything. I've seen her at her worst, and her worst is . . . I just--I _can't_ . . ." His head shot up, his eyes desperate, tears leaking from the corners, and his mouth twisted into a horrible frown. "I don't know if I can do that to her, to me; but . . . but then you two . . . and you might . . . _I_ might . . . and then you'd . . . and I don't know . . . and I just . . ." His voice began to shake, his emerald eyes boring into their startled expressions.

Miles and Stella just stared at him, worry making their hearts ache. They'd never dreamed that their son would have experienced such mature love at such a young age. Sure, they were both aware of the unique love story of Phil and Gertie, but that was a one-in-a-million relationship! They had no reason to suspect that their own son would have found somebody to care for so deeply, and who cared so deeply for him in return. They honestly had no idea how to respond to his predicament. They couldn't just _leave_ the Green Eyed People to succumb to the new bout of the sleeping sickness, especially because no other doctor knew how to treat the mysterious disease. But, at the same time, their son was standing before them, close to weeping at the mere prospect of leaving the love of his young life. And they didn't doubt that he loved her. It was clear in his shaking frame and terrified, vulnerable eyes.

"We didn't know," Miles finally managed, his voice low, surprised, and unsure. "Arnold, we had no _idea_ -"

Before he could continue with his confused apologies, the front door opened and closed with a loud bang. Arnold knew who it was immediately; his breath hitched in his throat, and he hastily wiped at his tear-streaked cheeks. "Football Head!" the intruder's amused voice called from the hallway. "You home? I've got a surprise for you! And I promise, this time, it's _not_ a wet willy!" Arnold turned his back on his parents; not because he was disappointed in their sudden decision to leave, but because he'd already shown enough weakness, and he didn't want to expose himself anymore.

He took a few deep breaths, and, finally deeming himself decent enough to accept Helga's company, turned around to face the doorway again. "I'm in the kitchen, Helga!" He winced at how incredibly shaky his voice was, and he knew that it was a dead giveaway that he was feeling a strong, likely negative, emotion.

The hastened footsteps of his girlfriend neared, and when she finally slid in sight, her eyes were so thick with concern, that Arnold felt the tears prick his eyes again. Peculiarly, she had a _parrot _clinging to her shoulder, mumbling romantic musings, but the bird had received absolutely none of her attention the moment she realized that Arnold was hurting. She brushed the animal from her shoulder, and it flew away to the window sill, perching itself hear the open window and turning it's face to the breeze.

Helga crossed the room quickly to Arnold, wrapping her arms around his body and forcing him into a tight, loving embrace. The boy melted into her touch, his arms flinging around her waist, and he buried his head in the crook of her neck. The girl was silent for a moment, as was everybody else in the room, and then she spoke. "Arnold, my love, what's wrong?" She suddenly pulled back, taking his face in her hands and staring as deeply into his eyes as was possible. "Was it my dad? _Please_ tell me it has nothing to do with my dad-"

Arnold felt a strange smile cross his lips, feeling so warm hearted at _her_ obvious distress in response to _his_ distress. He shook his head, trying to blink away the persistent tears, and his voice was quiet as he said, "No. It wasn't your dad."

She let out a breath of relief, resting her forehead against his and squeezing her eyes shut. Just seeing Arnold cry had always had a terrible effect on her, and she could already feel tears of her own form beneath her closed lids. She sucked in a laboring breath. "Arnold, please don't cry." She chuckled dryly, humorlessly, and added, "You know it always makes me cry, too. And big, strong Helga G. Pataki _doesn't_ cry."

The football-headed boy laughed under his breath, admiring the delicate features of her relaxing face; she was obviously calming down at the fact that Arnold didn't seem as wrapped in misery as he'd been before. "Helga, I love you _so much_."

Helga's eyes flickered open, her tender love and clear in her gaze. "Not as much as I love you, my beloved," she answered, her voice just above a whisper. Arnold sighed, feeling so very happy in her arms that he was somehow able to completely forget the situation he'd found himself in. "But I mean it, Arnold," Helga said suddenly, her voice stern and demanding. "Tell me what's wrong. I will personally kick whoever's butt that made you so . . . like this."

Arnold sighed again, less lovesick and more forlorn, and his hands clasped tightly behind her back. He avoided her stare. "I don't think that'll work this time, Helga."

She raised one side of her eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

The room fell deathly silent, neither Miles or Stella or Arnold willing to answer that question. Arnold wasn't sure how she'd respond; part of him thought she'd be happy that he'd be able to spend some one-on-one, quality time with his parents, but an even larger part of him _knew_ she'd be angry, and heartbroken, and terrified that he'd _really_ leave her. But Arnold knew he wouldn't. He wouldn't be able to bring himself to kiss her goodbye, hop on a plane, and love her through letters and postcards. He'd miss seeing her beautiful smile every day, and the feel of her lips against his, and the musical laugh that escaped her teeth whenever he did something that particularly pleased her. He couldn't part from that.

Helga suddenly pulled free from him, her eyes piercing and impatient. "Arnold, what do you mean?"

Behind the two sixth graders, Miles and Stella shared a look, both nodding in silent agreement. The latter took a step forward, putting a hand on the young girl's shoulder, and said in a soft, quiet voice, "Helga, Miles and I have to leave the country for a little bit. The Green Eyed People are getting sick again, and we need to help them get better. Eduardo is coming to pick us up tomorrow afternoon, and we're not sure how long we'll be gone, but we'll be back."

With wide, understanding eyes, Helga stared at Arnold, taking in the sight of his watery, pleading, desperate gaze. "Does that mean . . . are you?" She sucked in a breath, a hand flying to her mouth in and her eyes dropped immediately to the tiled floors of the kitchen.

Without thinking, Arnold closed the gap between them, grabbing her face in his tender hands and crashing their mouths together. His lips moved passionately, pleading earnestly for her to respond, but the poor girl was too frozen, too heartbroken, to answer accordingly. Finally, after recognizing Helga's lack of response, Arnold pulled back, the delicate smack of their lips parting being the only noise in the silent room. Under his breath, Arnold muttered, "No. No, I can't do that."

Helga stared at him, her mouth opening and closing incredulously. "Can't do what?" she squeaked.

"I can't leave you," he answered, gathering her thin frame to him, and pressing their bodies close together. "And I _won't_ leave you."

The girl with the golden pigtails gaped at him, her entire being trembling at his unexpected decision. "But . . . but, Arnold -"

"_No_," Arnold insisted in a voice that suggested his decision wouldn't be swayed. "No, I'm staying _right_ here in Hillwood. We're going to go to middle school next year. And we'll pass notes during class, and we'll kiss in between periods, and everybody on the street will take one look at us and say, 'What a great couple; I bet they'll be together forever.' And then after middle school, we'll go to high school, and we'll compare schedules, and hope that they'll match, and I'll buy a car so that I can take you for drives through the country and we can stargaze and have picnics away from everybody else. And then after high school, we'll go to college, the _same_ college, and you'll write lots of beautiful poems and books, and I'll be a psychologist, and then I'll propose to you at the end of our final year, and then we'll get married, and have lots of babies that we'll name after my grandparents, and we'll live in the Boarding House, and . . . and . . ." He let out a deep breath, realizing that he'd just vocalized the majority of his dreams over the years that he'd opted to keep to himself. "And I'll never leave you."

Helga was in awe, but there was a hopeful gleam in her eyes as she said meekly, "Arnold, I can't ask you to do that -"

"I'm sorry, Helga, but that's just what's going to happen," he demanded, his voice harsh and low. "And you don't have a choice, because you won't ever get rid of me. I'll _always_ be here for you."

In a brief fit of passion, Helga seized the back of Arnold's oblong head, and pulled him into the most passionate kiss she'd ever bestowed upon his lips. (And, knowing Helga, that was quite a bold statement.) Arnold responded immediately, his hands spread flat against her back, tugging her as close to his body as was humanly possible. Their lips moved fluidly against each others, their heads tilted every now again in the search of the angle that forced them closest together.

Miles and Stella were feeling uncomfortable to say the least. After all, not many twelve year olds were comfortable kissing in such an extreme way, but, the way they seemed to move in unison, it most certainly was not an uncommon occurrence. They weren't sure how to feel about that, but, considering the fact that the two sixth graders had apparently been dating since they were in preschool, they figured that the two must've grown that relaxed with the more intimate aspects of their relationship.

In saying that, Arnold and Helga's kiss didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon, and the two adults had no interest in standing around, watching the children make out in front of them, especially when there were matters that still needed to be addressed. So, Stella and Miles cleared their throats at the same time, successfully capturing Arnold and Helga's attention and causing them to pull away. They stared at each other, just now realizing the fact that there were other people in the room. And not just other people. _Arnold's parents_.

Arnold's previous words to Helga, (which seemed so correct, so _right_, at the time), echoed in his mind, and the rudeness, the complete disregard of his parent's decisions and hopes, shocked him into blushing, with flying-saucer eyes. He blinked rapidly, dragging his gaze away from the blonde-haired beauty before him to stare at his parents. "Mom, Dad, I -"

Stella smiled at him, rather sadly, but reassuringly. "You don't need to apologize, sweetheart. I . . . your father and I understand. Helga is important to you, and, as much as I'd like to tuck you away in a suitcase and take you with us, I know that you'd just hate us forever."

Miles wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders with an agreeing nod. "_Stella and I_ will go to San Lorenzo and cure the Green Eyes of the sleeping sickness. We really don't know how long we'll be gone, but La Sombra isn't there to torment the natives, so there shouldn't be any pressing dangers. We'll teach Eduardo how to prepare the medicine, and when that's all finished, we'll come back."

"Now that I think about it," Stella said, shooting her husband a knowing look, "I don't think there'd be much for you to do, anyway. Except for maybe taking hikes through the jungles and playing games with the other kids there. You'd probably be bored after two days!"

"We'll write letters," Miles continued. "We'll write to you every week, and then it'll be like we're on an extended vacation."

"What do you think?" Stella asked sweetly, her gaze shifting between her son, and Helga, (who had pivoted to give her soon-to-be parents-in-laws her full attention), trying to gauge their reaction.

"I think." Arnold's eyes returned to his girlfriend, his emerald irises warming at her shocked, blushing profile, and a grin spread across his face. His tears were long passed, only the distant streaks serving as evidence to his previous grief. "I think that sounds . . . _Oh, Helga_ -"

The boy spun Helga around again, smashing his lips against hers for a brief, deep, loving kiss. When he pulled back, Helga had on a goofy, lovesick smile, and she looked dazed, her eyes unfocused as she _tried_ to look at him. He broke away from his girlfriend, (a little reluctantly, but for good reason), and ran forward towards his parents, throwing his arms around their waists and burying the side of his face in his mother's chest. He had a very wide smile on his face, and his eyes drifted closed, relishing in the kindness that Helga, Grandpa, and Grandma had insisted they'd passed on to him. His love for them, (which was already fairly strong), had just swelled, almost painfully, in his chest, and the moment he felt his parent's hands patting him on the back, he let out a little sigh. "I'm sorry. And thank you," he whispered sincerely. "I love you."

"We love you, too, Arnold," his parents responded together, voice equally as quiet.

The three remained in the tight embrace for a long moment, before Arnold pulled back, looking up at them with thankful eyes. "Um..." His happiness, still very evident in his face, grew more sheepish and slightly embarrassed as he said, "Is it okay if Helga and I go upstairs for a little bit? We'll be back down, I promise, but I'd just like . . . just a little time alone with her."

Miles and Stella shared a rather concerned look, (after all, they didn't seem very shy when it came to kissing each other, and, without supervision, even at twelve, who knew what would happen), but the pleading look in Arnold's eyes was answer enough. He needed her comfort, as she needed his; she'd calm him down, and he'd calm her down, more successfully than anybody else possibly could.

After a brief moment of silence, Stella nodded and said, "Of course. But be down before dinner. We want to spend as much time as we can together before Eduardo comes." She suddenly turned to the pigtailed girl and tacked on, "Oh, and speaking of dinner. Helga, would you like to stay over?"

Helga nodded instantly. "_Doi_. I could never pass up spending some time with my favorite Football Head, his amazing parents, his kooky grandparents, and the zany, but lovable boarders. Besides, Miriam forgot to buy groceries, _again_, so I'd probably just end up having potato chips and cheese for dinner."

Miles raised an eyebrow at his son. "Miriam?"

"Helga's mom," Arnold said quickly, taking hold of Helga's hand and beginning to walk her to the doorway of the kitchen. "We'll be back down later," he said over his shoulder, watching in slight bewilderment and amusement as the parrot from the window sill flew after them, perching himself decisively on Helga's shoulder and squawking insensibly. "Um, Helga?" he asked, looking at her with a smile. "Why'd you bring me a parrot?"

The girl giggled. "He's my dad's. He flew into my bedroom last night and heard me reciting some poetry; he's been saying it over and over all day -"

"_Oh, Arnold, my love, my sultry preteen. The kindest soul my cynic eyes have ever, ever seen_ -"

Arnold chuckled, and the last thing his parents heard before they were out of ear shot was, "How did I get so lucky to fall in love with such a beautiful poet -"

There was silence in the kitchen for a few long moments, before Miles turned to his wife and said, an eyebrow raised in incredulity, "We have a strange son."

Stella nodded in agreement, her eyes fixed on some point out the kitchen window. "I'll say."


	7. Married

"Come on, Arnold. You might even get _Helga _. . ."

Arnold chuckled and shook his head. "No, thanks. I already know I'm going to get her. I don't need some marriage predictor to tell me that."

"Are you sure?" Rhonda asked, looking at Gerald with a conspiratorial wink. "Because, I don't know, Helga's been cozying up to Brainy quite a lot lately -"

The football-headed boy frowned at that, turning back to the tall girl with a raised eyebrow. "What are you talking about? They're just friends. Helga loves me."

"Oh, sure, maybe she does _now_," Rhonda said, rolling her eyes and folding her arms over her chest. "But what about in ten years? Can you honestly say for sure that Helga's still going to love you in ten years? And can you honestly say that _you'll_ love _Helga_ in ten years?"

"Yes," Arnold said immediately, looking at her with less-than-amused eyes. "I can honestly say that Helga and I will still love each other just as much in ten years as we do now. Maybe even more."

"But so many things could happen between now and then," Rhonda continued, 'thoughtfully.' "Wouldn't you like to know for _sure_?"

Arnold looked at her with half-lidded eyes and a flat-lined mouth. "You're not going to let me leave without doing it, are you?" he asked, his voice low, and slightly annoyed.

"No," the girl answered maturely, "No, I will not."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll take your marriage predictor test. But I'm telling you, it's just going to say Helga."

"Let the marriage predictor be the judge of that," Rhonda said, readying her fingers in the slots. "Okay, what's your favorite color?"

"Blue," Arnold said, his voice monotone, as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Okay, B-L-U-E. What day were you born?"

"The fifth."

"1-2-3-4-5. And your favorite number between 1 and 10?"

"Seven."

"1-2-3-4-5-6-7. Okay, and now for the result." Rhonda made a grand showing of opening up the flap of the marriage predictor. She read the name, and she gasped, as if shocked by the result, before she glanced up again, holding the sheet of notebook paper to her chest and muttering under her breath, "_Oh my gosh._"

Arnold looked at her in surprise, not having expected such a spontaneous reaction. "What?"

"Oh . . . my _gosh _. . ."

The poor football-headed boy began to look unbearably anxious. "What? _What_?" he asked, slightly panicked as he awaited the dark-haired-girl's response.

"You're going to marry . . ."

Rhonda held up the marriage predictor for Arnold to see.

". . . _Helga_."

Arnold let out a deep breath, dropping his head into his hands and forcing his heart to slow down. He groaned, feeling slightly irritated that Rhonda had goaded him into such a strange bout of anxiety. "Rhonda," he mumbled into his palms. "That wasn't funny."

Rhonda was nearly rolling on the sidewalk, (her outfit was new, no _way_ would she let it get dirty), tears of laughter prickling at the corners of her eyes. "Oh, yes it was, Arnold!" she managed out, holding her stomach as it began to ache.

The poor fourth grade boy lifted his head, glaring slightly at her as she still chuckled merrily in amusement. He glanced out of the side of his eye at his best friend, and stifled another groan of irritation when he saw that even Gerald was holding back his laughter.

"Gerald!" he scolded, putting his hands on his hips and settling an unimpressed stare at the tall-haired-boy. "It _wasn't_ funny!"

Just at that moment, Helga came bounding down the front steps of the school, a look of mild annoyance on her face, as she mumbled under her breath about her no-good, stinkin' locker that kept sticking. She glanced up, just noticing the stares of her beloved, who was looking rather miffed, but also a little pleased to see her, and Gerald, who had a stifled smirk on his face, and Rhonda, who was not even remotely trying to hide her amusement. Helga raised one side of her eyebrow, settling at the bottom of the steps and folding her arms over her chest. "Okay, who died, and why are Princess and Geraldo happy about it?" she asked, addressing her question to her favorite football head.

As an answer, Arnold's face hardened, and he marched straight over to her. He grabbed her by the waist, dipped her back, and planted a deep, passionate kiss right on her unsuspecting lips. Helga, of course, was momentarily surprised, but she quickly overcame her new, more horizontal position, and wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss wholeheartedly. They kept it more or less light, but not lacking emotion, and held it for only a few, (or ten), seconds before they pulled away with a soft smack.

"Arnold," Helga said dreamily, gazing up at him with lovesick eyes. "What was _that_ for?"

Arnold's eyes were in the same airy state, and he gave her a follow-up kiss on the nose. "I'm going to marry you some day."

The pigtailed girl swooned, her arms tightening around Arnold's neck and she tugged him down onto her lips again. Arnold was all-too-eager to comply. When she pulled back, they were both too lost in each other to notice the disgusted grimaces on Gerald and Rhonda's faces. Helga giggled, feeling extremely lovesick, up at the goofy grin on her beloved's face. "I'll hold you to that, my love."

At those final words, Gerald finally fake-gagged loud enough to catch both blondes' attention, and when they looked over to the people they forgot they were with, Rhonda folded her arms over her chest and gave them a quick once-over.

"Okay, so, maybe I was wrong. Maybe you two really _will_ love each other in ten years."


End file.
